You & I
by murdur
Summary: Collection of Loki/Sif drabbles and oneshots from tumblr prompts
1. Stressed

_****I've done some short drabbles and taken prompts over on my tumblr, psychoticgirl. I plan on posting a few of them over here and possibly updating in the future if more writing happens :)****_

**Prompts - stressed, afraid**

* * *

He is sitting hunched over his open book when she slips into the darkness of his room, his candles burned down to withering glows.

He did not accompany the welcoming party to the edges of the city, heralding her and her warriors return from battle, instead electing to lock himself away with his barely masked fears alone in his room, staring at the same page for hours.

She does not begrudge his choice. She knows that it is not lack of caring that keeps him here, but an abundance of it. Knows that if she was injured, or worse, he would not be able to stop himself from revealing their secret in front of all of Asgard. Knows that she would hardly be able to contain it herself.

The dark is safer.

His back stiffens at the touch of her hand to the base of his neck, shoulders dropping as a sigh of relief is breathed harsh through his nostrils. Sliding her hands across his shoulders, up the long column of his neck to rub circles in dark hair, pushing the tension and worry from his body. Her calloused hands travel downwards, sliding against the leather draping his chest to rest her head against his.

"I'm here," she whispers against his temple. "I'm alright."

He stands abruptly, knocking his chair to the ground in his movement, to take her in. Green orbs move quickly across her form, confirming with his own eyes the words her lips have spoken. She holds still under his needy gaze until he rushes forward, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard.

"I'm here," she whispers again, against his lips.

And again when he strips the metal and leather from her body, his lips and tongue seeking out every bruise and scrape.

Again as he pushes her back onto the bed, his face tucked to her neck.

Again as he moves within her, hands digging possessively, desperately into flesh.

Once more as he wraps around her, his breath slowing soft and steady against the back of her neck, safe in the dark.


	2. Delirious

**Prompt - Delirious**

* * *

He can't focus on anything for long. He faintly recalls being struck in the head with the handle of her sword, all her glorious fury behind it. He definitely recalls her hands on him, long fingers in his hair, probing at the lump on his skull. Her voice calling out his name and her concerned face lingering over his own, mercifully blocking out the too bright sun from his stinging eyes and it looks like there is a fire behind her, as if she herself is aflame. She is a vision.

"You're really beautiful, you know?" He can feel his words slurring but Sif's face looks slightly more relieved nonetheless.

"Shut up. And don't move. I clobbered you pretty solidly."

He grunts in agreement. He wouldn't be able to disobey her command if he wanted, for at the moment the training ring seems to be spinning at a nauseating pace. He has to close his eyes against it.

"I have a few healing stones on hand. I'm not sure they'll do much, but maybe it'll be enough to get you back on your feet to walk to the healing rooms." He is aware of her fingers in his hair again, rubbing the powder of the crushed stone into his tender skin. He's sure of her voice continuing but his brain can't quite sort out what she's said. His own words seem jumbled in his mind.

"Being around you is like this most of the time," he gripes while his head lolls in the dirt for a moment.

"Don't be so dramatic. I only land blows this hard on occasion. You're much too elusive to be permanently concussed at my hand."

"No," he argues, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. "The part of love where you feel out of your mind, out of control. It's not so different than this."

There is an awkward silence for a moment and he feels panic swell inside of him. Was that a stupid thing to say? Stupid. He rushes for something clever to say but only manages a pathetic "uhhhhh" in his disorientation. Then she laughs, long and hard.

"Poor Loki. Beaten senseless with the force of my affection and the bewilderment of his own emotions." She laughs again, sliding her arms under his arms and behind his knees, lifting his limp form easily from the ground. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, letting his still spinning head slump against her chest.

"You are a brute, truly."


	3. Allergies

**Prompt - Allergies**

* * *

Alfheim was beautiful this time of year, and it hadn't taken much persuading to convince the prince to take her on a short holiday to the realm. No duties were looming over them and they would not be missed for a day or two spent in an isolated mountain cabin.

Loki asked the innkeeper to prepare them a basket to take along on their stroll that afternoon, allowing them to now picnic in a field of wildflowers. Loki is stretched out on his back, one arm pillowed behind his head while his other hand is draped across Sif's ankle, rubbing soft circles against her skin with his eyes closed to the drowsy warmth of the afternoon.

Sif has her face turned up towards the sun, deeply breathing in the smell of the colorful blooms and munching on the Elvish delicacies when the itch starts in the back of her throat. She tries to clear it a few times, exhaling in short harsh bursts but it only seems to irritate her airway further and the soreness increases.

"Loki," she starts hesitantly.

"Hmm?" he drowses, not opening his eyes.

"_Loki_," her voice is sharp, trying to keep the panic at bay despite the hives that are now blooming across her chest. Her lips feel swollen and strange, and her tingling mouth makes speech awkward. "I can't breathe."

He rolls his head to look at her fully then and sits up suddenly, his eyes wide.

"Oh."

Dread sinks in her stomach, her Silvertongue stunned to near silence. This is not a good sign. Her breath rasps when she inhales next, sending Loki up to his kneels to face her.

"Alright, just stay calm. You're having some sort of allergic reaction." Brilliant, really. Her love is a real genius. He turns on his knees, digging through the picnic basket and speaking quickly in near-alarm. "What could it have been? Something in that salad? Or maybe it's the pollen of one of these flowers."

"Does it matter?" she wheezes, trying not to feel irritated. "Just help me."

"Right! Of course," he whirls back towards her, his hands flailing unhelpfully near her neck for a moment before resting on her shoulders. "Your neck is swollen and your lips too. Just, calm down, Sif. Take a deep breath."

It feels like her throat is slowly closing and she tenses against it, her entire body feeling rigid with only shallow pants making it to her lungs.

"Deep breaths, Sif!" His voice is rising in pitch and volume, his eyes roaming her face and neck in a frenzy. "Take a nice deep breath and try to clear your mind, it might help your body work better at fighting off the reaction!"

She can't get enough air to do more than wheeze roughly at him.

"If I knew what was causing it, I could flush it out. But I don't even know what we ate." His words run in to each other as he shakes her shoulder. "Oh, you look horrendous, your throat is enormous, Sif. Just. Relax!"

She is being suffocated by her own body and all he can do is babble unhelpful drivel at her and flutter his hands like a worried old woman.

"Sif, just stay calm!" He is shouting now, hysterical. "In through your no-"

Before she's even aware of it, her arm has pulled back and snaps forward, connecting solidly with Loki's nose. He crumples to the blanket with a shouted "whaaa—?" in his bewilderment.

Sif wheezes a laugh at the shocked look on Loki's pale face, contrasted with the blood now pouring down his chin, livid red.

He scoffs, affronted, but appears to have sobered up. Or at least his eyes seem less crazed. One hand probes his nose tenderly. "Ow."

Sif laughs harder. The violent action of her punch and the ripples of her laughter seep some of the tension away from her neck.

"You are utterly perverse, my lady." He pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking away the tears smarting his eyes. "Genuinely unhinged. What a way to accept aid."

She cannot control her laughter now, relaxing her body in her twisted merriment, opening her airway and flushing some of the panic from her mind.

"Thank you," she gasps, "for your invaluable assistance."

"My pleasure," he grumbles. Perhaps he won't admit it, but he seems genuinely relieved to have helped in some way.

"Now," she rasps as she stands shakily, pulling him to his feet as well. "_Magic_ us home, you moron."

"Of course, _now_ you're full of great ideas." She punches him again, on the arm this time. "Ow! Lady, please! Keep your head!"


	4. Olympics AU

_**Context/background info: tumblr user spacevikinggoddess, who is residualaffection on AO3, and I spent like 5 hours back in February talking about an Olympics AU in which Thor, Loki, and Sif grew up skating on an old frozen pond together before making it big time in their respective events. But not before misunderstanding and heartbreak of course. This is set in that universe.**_

* * *

He lands the jump perfectly and feels his adrenaline spike in excitement. It's hard to keep the grin off of his face knowing he just skated one of the best performances of his life. A few more turns and he slows to a stop as the music fades out. At first all he can hear is the pounding of his heart in his throat which is soon drowned out by the thunderous applause of the crowd. He_had_ to have earned a medal, he _must_ have.

His eyes immediately snap up and sweep the arena, searching among the explosion of sound. Searching for _he_r. Nearly instantly he spots her, standing near the barrier with a radiant smile and her hands clasped in front of her. Thor is at her side, accounting for at least half the noise in the rink, he's sure. Nearly involuntarily he begins to skate towards her, realizing that she is holding on to a single flower. The blue of the flower stands out against the white of her Team USA jacket and he nearly sprawls to the ice as the realization comes crashing down upon him.

A blue winter iris. The same strange flower he's been receiving for years from the mystery fan.

He takes her in again, the soft smile and her hands wrapped around the long stem and his mind flashes back to his childhood. When Sif, not more than 10 or 11 stood with that same flower clasped is her much smaller hands. An apology from from Loki, dug from his mother's winter garden after he'd shoved her onto the hard ice, taking his anger with his brother, with himself out on the one person he considered a friend.

She had accepted the peace offering with glittering eyes, frozen tracks shining on her face. She had leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, absolving him and lighting a fire in his heart that had never truly gone out.

He skates over to where she stands now, holding the flower, offering it to him. He hadn't put it all together. All these years, she'd been watching him, reaching out to him. How could he be so stupid. She smiles brighter at the recognition in his eyes. All of the world fades away as he reaches delicately for the striking bloom, his other hand falling softly against her cheek. He leans in and kisses her mouth, his heart feeling as though it will burst from his chest in happiness.


	5. Someday

Prompt - exes meeting again after not speaking for years AU

* * *

Sif swept into the small restaurant across the street from her studio, giving a smile to the hostess before continuing on towards the bar. She caught the eye of the bartender as she neared and he gave her a nod of recognition before turning to grab a frosted mug.

The place was crowded tonight, and only one of the tall chairs lining the bar was open for her to slide into. A couple sat chatting eagerly away to one side and a businessman with a briefcase stashed under his chair was hunched to the right of the seat. Sif apologized as she elbowed the man, scooting into the tight space. He did not raise his gaze from his near empty glass but the word was out of her mouth before she could properly process the situation. "Loki?"

She froze, she would recognize that profile from nearly anywhere and felt her gut drop as he glanced up towards her. That was definitely him. Fuck.

She briefly thought about running; faking a phone call or maybe a heart attack. Heart attack seemed more believable in the moment. Before she could push back off and make her way for the door and out of this awkward situation, the man behind the bar chose that particular moment to slide the full mug of her favorite beer in front of her with a cheery "The usual, my lady."

Double fuck. No escaping now.

Loki also contemplated escape, trying to control any flicker of emotion from crossing his face as he looked over at his ex-girlfriend. He felt the phantom pain of a knife in his chest as he watched her face turn from surprise to closed off wariness. Anger. This would not be fun. However; hasty plans to pretend he was just there for a quick drink, which was now _gone_ and so he could also be _gone_, were dashed as a plate full of steaming pasta was dropped under his nose.

"Hello, Sif," his voice barely shook. "What are you doing here?"

"Just in to grab a quick drink," she lied and the sight of his food made her stomach audibly growl in betrayal. Fuck it. She was starving and it might be nice to have some food to shovel into her face to keep her from saying something stupid. To keep her from telling him all of the horrible things she had wished upon him. About how much she had cried over him. About all the pathetic text messages she'd typed and never sent when she was drunk. She ordered nachos.

He felt his stomach flip at the sight of her, dressed in familiar sweats and an athletic top, it was like he was 19 and breathless at the first sight of her all over again. She had cut her hair short, the blunt cut highlighting the sharp angle of her strong jaw. Her hair had been so long last he'd seen her. Always streaming out behind her, caught in her mouth, caught in his, with his hands buried deep. His hair had grown longer, no more gel keeping it slick and stiff, he wore it looser now. She decided she liked it. He looked more mature, more filled out than that scrawny boy she'd met her freshman year at school.

Sif was a track star, riding her scholarship and earning nationwide attention for her skill with the javelin. She had become fast friends with Thor, the older teammate with the most incredible hammer throw she'd ever seen.

It had been at one of Thor's many house parties, Sif and other members of the track team were invited over, that she'd met her friend's younger brother, hiding in the kitchen and clinging to a beer can with feigned nonchalance. The connection was immediate and strong. Which made its collapse all the more devastating.

For over three years, they had been each others companion, a seemingly perfect balance for each other and Sif had found herself head over heels. And she thought he felt the same, ignoring his jealousies over the attention and recognition she earned, the time she spent without him, with his brother. But it had festered, feelings of being slighted by her choices, upset when she refused to dim herself for him, to not bask in the glory and fun of being a college athlete. But when they were alone, when things were good, it was so good. She had clung to that.

It had not ended prettily. Loki had made sure of that when he let his jealousy and self conscious pain wrapped in barbs and stinging accusations fly that winter night years ago. And she had retaliated in kind, flinging words as well as plates at him, leaving dishes and both of their hearts shattered, before walking out of the door and out of his life forever. Or, apparently, until today.

"You look good. Well rested. I'm guessing no more garbageman singing showtunes outside of your window at 4am anymore?"

Loki smiled at the memory of his old college house. "No, I've been fortunate enough to afford something in a little nicer area. Things have been good. And you? I see that you have not lost your appetite for junk." He peered down at her plate of nachos, piled high with greasy meat and heaps of cheese and sour cream.

Sif laughed and shrugged. "My metabolism can still take the beating, so why deny myself? But I'm good. Things have been really good."

She highlighted some of her accomplishments from the past eight years. One trip to the Olympics and a bronze medal before an injury sidelined her and she'd decided to shelve that life for something calmer. And calmer apparently meant opening her own track and field center and mentoring young girls into following their own athletic dreams.

And she found herself happy to hear about his successes; he spoke of his new professorship at the university across town teaching anthropology. He complained about the insufferable essays of the first year students and Sif smiled. There was that uptight asshole she knew and loved. Once.

He casually mentioned a counselor and the university's free services, which both surprised and pleased her. But she didn't let herself think too long on that. Apparently he and Thor had some sort of major blow-up and he'd gotten really low before deciding to pick himself back up.

"I've been attempting to take more ownership for the path my life is on," he spoke into his martini glass. "It's been hell."

Talking of Thor and his recent engagement to a scientist, Sif didn't detect a single hint of jealousy lurking beneath the surface, or perhaps she simply didn't want to hear awkwardness of the situation didn't feel as oppressive as the night grew darker. And though the conversation was sometimes bumpy, more often than not she found herself reminded of when things were good and bright than when things were cold and dark. And when his hand touched her arm, it was hard not to think of all the ways those hands had touched her in the past.

During a lull, as Sif drained the last of her third beer (when did it get so late?), he cleared his throat and twisted his hands in his lap. "I am sorry," he looked over at her, looked sincere, "about everything."

She wanted to say _I miss you_. Instead she said "I want to believe you." Even after all of these years, and these past few surprisingly pleasant hours, she was not ready to take down the fortress she'd built around her heart against him. "Maybe I will. Someday."

He nodded. Regret and acceptance warred in his chest. He had burned the bridge, the city, and the surrounding forest to the ground those years ago, he knew she was already being generous. "Well, I look forward to _someday_."

When she finally stood, and slung her coat back around her shoulders, she felt warm. From the alcohol, the food, the conversation. "Well, this has been surprisingly not horrible."

He laughed, a genuine laugh and nodded in agreement. "It was good to see you too, Sif. I'm happy for you. Maybe I'll see you around again. Someday."

"Goodbye, Loki," she rose and placed her hand on his shoulder as she passed. "Be good."

"Don't push it." He watched her slip out into the night before turning back to his waiting bill. Slipping from his shoulder, a napkin fluttered into his lap. He stared down at her phone number and the words "for someday" scrawled below in that familiar slanted angle, and he grinned.


	6. Quiet Area

Prompt - librarian/avid reader AU

* * *

He hears the gum obnoxiously popping before she even comes into his line of sight and he sighs. He knows the type. "The magazine rack is over by the computers," he drawls, hardly bothering to look up from the open book before him.

"Oh, was it in an issue of Cosmo that you learned how to shape your eyebrows like that?"

His head snaps up. "Excuse me?"

A tall woman with black hair pulled into a smooth, high pony is grinning down at him, her hands shoved into a green jacket as she stands casually in combat boots across from his desk. He could almost forgive her rudeness for her beauty.

"I think my brows are good too, thanks. And actually I'm looking for something a little heavier than Glamour, but thanks for the sexist assumption."

Loki is nearly speechless. The library is a place of order. Everything is categorized, numbered, assigned and it's his job to keep it all in line. Everything has a place and he likes it that way. This is his kingdom. Rare is it for someone to speak to him in such a way. And so _loudly_.

In a calm voice, at a decent volume he points out the computer down the counter before letting his eyes drift back down to the words on the page. "Feel free to browse the catalog."

"I was actually hoping to get something that a computer won't give me," she sauntered over and leaned against the wood, "Which is taste. And a decent recommendation. But apparently there is no sign of human life in this library."

He closes his book, sighing again, and asks her what exactly he can help her with. She lists off specifications that surprise him. She's in the market for historical novels set in ancient history, biographies about female pirates, modern retellings of familiar myths, anything about war and politics that won't "make me want to pillage my very own village out of boredom."

He rises smoothly, mumbling numeric sequences under his breath and waves her after him. He glides down aisles, letting his fingers glide along ridges before plucking the desired tome from the shelf and into her waiting arms. Her stack is five books high as turns to face her, holding a dusty novel about Rusla, the Viking-age pirate queen. "That should get you started, yes?" His grin could be described as shit eating.

The woman has a look of wonder as she reaches forward and touches his face, and he freezes.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Amazing," she breathes. "You actually feel warm."

"What? Why wouldn't I-?" Her fingers slide slowly against his skin,

"I didn't know they'd advanced artificial intelligence so far. You're almost lifelike sometimes, Mr. Roboto."

If his face was warm before, it's absolutely burning now as he bats her hand away and she laughs. He drops the book somewhat forcefully onto the pile and turns back down aisle headed back towards his desk and back to solitude. She follows him.

"That was actually impressive though. Thanks for the recs. My name's Sif, by the way. What's yours?"

He doesn't look back at her. "Loki."

"Loki the librarian. That's cute. Are you gonna check me out, Loki the librarian?" That does bring him up short.

"What- I wa- oh" he peers down at the teetering pile she plops in front of his station. "The books. Right."

He is _not_ flustered.

She's back in at least two times a week after that, stopping by everything Tuesday and Thursday night after her ji-jitsu class down the block, leaning over the counter and chattering away about the latest book he recommended or harassing him for something new and exciting. Loki would be annoyed, but he's developed a new-found interest in the art of war and politics and finds himself enjoying discussing it with her. He often already has a title written down for her. A few times she's come in he's even had a book tucked under the counter, waiting on his desk for her arrival and approval. But he found that pulling them off the shelf means that he doesn't get to lead her down winding aisles to search out the treasure.

She always crowds too close in the aisle, invading his space and peering over his shoulder as he scans the shelves, reaching across his chest with her front pressing against his side to snag an eye catching cover from under his nose.

He assures himself that he only enjoys her visits as a break from the monotony of his day. He likes the silence the solitude, the order and peace. She is infuriating, and chaotic and fascinating.

And she is always so _loud_.

"What have you done to this poor book?"

"I read it, C-3PO." Her voice carries and Loki sees a reader shake his head at them and he shushes her.

"You've abused it." he runs long fingers over the crinkled, folded pages trying his best to undo the damage from where they stand amongst the military section. "You brute."

"Oh please," she laughs. "I treat books better than a lover."

"Without an ounce of respect?"

"Quite the opposite. Think of all the time and attention I gave that book. Running my fingers down its spine. Falling asleep holding onto it. Highlighting the best bits. So what if there's a little water damage, I like to read in the tub." She leans in close and taps the book in his hands and he swallows hard. "This book has seen me naked."

A mother holding her toddler's hand down the aisle glares daggers towards them and drags the child away. Loki says _please lower your voice_ but he thinks how lovely it would be to be a book.

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, I won't lower my voice," she puts her hand on her hips. "I'm trying to have a conversation. I'm trying to... No, I won't _be considerate, Sif_. No!"

"Sif, hush."

"No!" She shouts and steps forward and he can see the challenge in her eyes.

"Would you _please _keep it down," he intones dangerously, gliding closer.

She's staring him right in the eye as her voice raises even higher. "No."

"Shut. _Up_." he hisses. She is so close.

She rolls up onto her toes until she's eye level with him and says with her breath ghosting across his mouth, "Make me."

Before he's even aware of his actions, he has her pressed against the shelf, pinned against her beloved war stories with his long body as he kisses her mouth.

Finally, his library is blissfully quiet again. She drags a finger down his spine. He always did prefer the silence.


	7. Revenge

I was talking with various friends on tumblr the other night and we were all mourning the loss of Loki's beautiful, shaped eyebrows from the first movie and how he's let them get out of control since trying to take over a planet. Somehow this prompt evolved as a joke but I filled it anyways.

* * *

The dimming fire in the middle of the golden room is glinting off the empty goblets strewn about the room, drained of their mead and wine. The young prince and shield-maiden sit on the hard gold of the floor, lounging against the dark leather of a nearby sofa as they kiss slowly, senses feeling both heightened and dulled from the alcohol.

"I'm still mad at you, you know?" Sif breathes when his lips trail down her throat.

"Whatever for?" he asks innocently into the skin under her ear.

"For that dirty trick against my hair," she slips her hands under the leather and cotton at his torso.

"That was nearly a century ago," he speaks now to her collarbone, "and the results suit you so well." The long hand sliding into her dark tresses and giving a slight tug nearly derails her train of thought.

"That does not excuse the offence, nor diminish my right to revenge."

"And how do you plan to _punish_ my sin, shield-maiden?" The timbre of his voice drips with salaciousness.

She pushes at his shoulders until he tips backwards, slowly lowering himself to the floor. "What would be more fair than an eye for an eye, of sorts?"

"I am at your mercy, My Lady," he purrs, watching with dark eyes as she climbs up his body, lowering her hips against his to straddle his waist.

"I require a weapon," she whispers against his lips, an open hand waiting near his throat. He flicks his wrist and his favorite curved dagger, the one with a double handle falls heavy into her palm and presses against his neck. "Hmm," she contemplates. "Something that allows for a little more precision please."

He kisses her chin and waves his hand again, summoning a pair of fine shears to her. She growls and rolls against him again and his breath is gone. "Still, too large. I need something to _pluck_."

He raises a brow at her but complies, bringing forth her very own tweezers. "Does the Lady mean to pull each hair from my rueful head?" He lets his hands wander down her body, coming to pull on her rear as he kisses her neck once more. "You are cruel indeed."

His surprised yelp echoes off of the walls of the cavernous rooms as Sif grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back forcefully. Before he can even think of squirming away, her thighs have snapped tight to hold him in place and he feels a chunk of hair at his brow being viciously ripped away. "Ow! Sif! What are you doing? OW!"

"If you don't hold still I will end up making them horribly uneven. Do you wish to have a permanent look of surprise?"

"Ow, Sif, this _hurts_!"

"Oh please," her grip in his hair is relentless and the look of concentration is almost terrifying. He gives up on his tactic of escape and goes limp in resignation. "I know what I'm doing. This will be over sooner if you just relax."

"You're going to make me look like a fool!"

"The atrocities on your face were doing that job just fine. Trust me, this will be an improvement."

A few more painful minutes of Loki whining pass before she finally releases his hair and runs her fingers over his tender brows. "There."

He sits up, but she stays seated on his lap as he summons a mirror to inspect the damage. A long finger lifts to smooth his sleek, arched brows. His face remains haughtily upset, but he says nothing. Sif laughs victoriously and wraps her arms around his shoulders and leans in to kiss his pouting lips. "Revenge has never tasted so sweet."

"Oh shut up," he complains and kisses her again.

If he just so happens to maintain her punishment, continuing to wear her mark against him, well he's just keeping his side of the bargain. Fair is fair.


End file.
